Standing on the battlefield at Culloden some years ago, my companion considered the dreich, dreary moor and said: "Thank God we lost." This is heresy in the Highlands, so I glanced up sharply as he went on: "If Charlie had won, we'd all be Catholics." It's fair to say that monarchy inScotland, if it is considered at all, remains wrapped up in some ancient prejudices.
It is remarkable how little Scots obsess on the reigning family when compared with our neighbours in the Union. The Royals visit in the summer, but unless you live in Deeside you wouldn't know. There is a summer garden party at Holyrood, invitations to which are referred to ironically (but with secret pride). The Royal Yacht, where Zara Phillips and Mike Tindall had a pre-nuptial swally, is parked in Leith Docks, gawked over by tourists and the occasional Scot wanting to see where Princess Diana lost her virginity. Lèse majesté is a national pastime.
The reasons go back a long way. Our king, James VI, became James I of England in the 1603 union of the crowns. When his Stuart line was thrown out by William of Orange, the incomer was welcomed by many Scots. But William never visited, nor did his successor Queen Anne, who saw through the union of parliaments in 1707.
In fact, no monarch dropped by until George IV in 1822. This is telling, because with his arrival we perked up, naming every square and bridge we could after him. Our previous disdain clearly masked a hankering. For similar reasons, Scotland was fond of Victoria; it's said that on the train north she would draw her blinds to block out the blighted English north, opening them only when she was over the border. Oh yes, we liked that. But she was still a bit up herself – she wanted a statue on Arthur's Seat – so rumours flourished, culminating in Mrs Brown, a film about how it was the rough love of a ghillie that got her over the death of Albert.
The Queen Mother was certainly discussed, because she was from the county of Angus. But the main question was whether she had been subject to a child-swap, and was actually the daughter of a village woman, so was a "wee bauchle fae Kirriemuir." And the Queen? The usual apathetic respect, except from the Archers, a group of elderly men who dress as Robin Hood, act as her bodyguard, and who between them own 103% of the land. The Duke of Edinburgh? Please! Prince Charles? Little interest, even if his talking to flowers mirrors the title of one of Scotland's most famous poems, Hugh MacDiarmid's A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle.
The small warm glint in the Scottish demeanour is saved for Princess Anne. The hardest-working royal is often in Scotland and, for a time, she was thought to be about to become 'Princess Lyon', a sort of Queen of Scots. Barely a rugby game passes without her supporting Scotland from the stands. Her connection – despite racy rumours – is due to her son Peter playing for the Scotland under-18s while at Gordonstoun public school.
This loyalty has been noted, and that affection will transfer to Zara with her decision to get married in the Canongate Kirk, that holds the remains of Adam Smith. Such things aren't quickly forgotten. One could argue that Anne's family appeals to Scots because they are (for royalty) down to earth. That might be true, but the truth is that we like them when they like us. Which is why, even in the full pomp of his power, first minister Alex Salmond isn't ready to try to ditch the monarchy yet.
It is remarkable how little Scots obsess on the reigning family when compared with our neighbours in the Union. The Royals visit in the summer, but unless you live in Deeside you wouldn't know. There is a summer garden party at Holyrood, invitations to which are referred to ironically (but with secret pride). The Royal Yacht, where Zara Phillips and Mike Tindall had a pre-nuptial swally, is parked in Leith Docks, gawked over by tourists and the occasional Scot wanting to see where Princess Diana lost her virginity. Lèse majesté is a national pastime.
The reasons go back a long way. Our king, James VI, became James I of England in the 1603 union of the crowns. When his Stuart line was thrown out by William of Orange, the incomer was welcomed by many Scots. But William never visited, nor did his successor Queen Anne, who saw through the union of parliaments in 1707.
The Queen Mother was certainly discussed, because she was from the county of Angus. But the main question was whether she had been subject to a child-swap, and was actually the daughter of a village woman, so was a "wee bauchle fae Kirriemuir." And the Queen? The usual apathetic respect, except from the Archers, a group of elderly men who dress as Robin Hood, act as her bodyguard, and who between them own 103% of the land. The Duke of Edinburgh? Please! Prince Charles? Little interest, even if his talking to flowers mirrors the title of one of Scotland's most famous poems, Hugh MacDiarmid's A Drunk Man Looks at the Thistle.
The small warm glint in the Scottish demeanour is saved for Princess Anne. The hardest-working royal is often in Scotland and, for a time, she was thought to be about to become 'Princess Lyon', a sort of Queen of Scots. Barely a rugby game passes without her supporting Scotland from the stands. Her connection – despite racy rumours – is due to her son Peter playing for the Scotland under-18s while at Gordonstoun public school.
This loyalty has been noted, and that affection will transfer to Zara with her decision to get married in the Canongate Kirk, that holds the remains of Adam Smith. Such things aren't quickly forgotten. One could argue that Anne's family appeals to Scots because they are (for royalty) down to earth. That might be true, but the truth is that we like them when they like us. Which is why, even in the full pomp of his power, first minister Alex Salmond isn't ready to try to ditch the monarchy yet.
